


Golden, Delicious

by oracleskald



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Devotional Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oracleskald/pseuds/oracleskald
Summary: I wrote this poem in one sitting, after three hours of sleep and some meaningful dreams that melted away, and I think it's an ode to understanding my place in the universe.





	Golden, Delicious

Sometimes, I crave apples.  
There’s no rhyme nor reason,  
no absence in my diet best filled  
by Braeburn, Gala, Golden Delicious.  
I’m drawn to cider, soft or hard,  
or candies sour like cooking apples,  
or pie and crumble, that I say is “to share”.

There is no reason —  
no mortal reason —  
why in my sleep, once, as a child  
my parents saw me climb downstairs  
and pluck an apple from the fridge.  
I have no memory of this;  
a forgotten dream, a fond told tale  
of how “strange” their child  
could often be.

My gods say there’s more to it,  
though being gods  
they’re not forthcoming with the facts;  
no matter how I beg  
or plead or whine for them.  
“One day”, they say, “one day,”  
says the one-eyed wanderer,  
“one day you’ll work it out and then,”  
and only then, will he explain.  
Fragmented truths.  
Apple seeds he’ll make me tend myself  
until they grow, proud, reaching,  
needing more than sun and rain  
to reach the sky.

But the gods are not the only ones  
with power to illuminate and an apple  
sliced in two  
is two hearts, two rows of seeds,  
two potentials, two doctors a day.  
(Two ways to heal.)  
And if the gods will not answer  
then the other half of my apple will,  
with blade outstretched, handle first,  
to slice and peel and force the hands  
of beings far older than I can dream.

Some apples turn the stomach,  
and some need baked before they’re eaten,  
and some — of Idunn grown —  
are not for mortal man or beast.  
But golden apples follow me,  
in myth and book, of awen born,  
and I wonder if the hands of gods  
will one day give an apple to me.  
An apple a day, curiosity at bay,  
neither man or beast or fae,  
who can say?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [historicaloracle.ca](https://www.historicaloracle.ca/post/golden-delicious). Comments welcome here, or there.


End file.
